


C and D

by overcomewithlongingfora_girl



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12456732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcomewithlongingfora_girl/pseuds/overcomewithlongingfora_girl





	1. Chapter 1

The new camper rattled in on a Sunday. That wasn’t unusual, in Demi’s experience. People packed on Fridays, drove the Saturday, and settled in when they would still have an afternoon left. Usually, though, the campers were in slightly better shape than this. 

She eyed the vehicle sideways from her position on the store porch. Even the license plate was crooked and banged up, so much so that it was hard to read. Dust and grime coated every surface, and the windshield was a veritable graveyard of tiny flying insects. Lining up a well-worked piece of gum against her teeth, Demi watched the hulking beast rest in on itself and shudder to a halt in the store parking lot. 

The man that emerged was in no way surprising. He carried the extra weight around his middle that all the men did – beer weight. Two day stubble lingered on a fat sunburned face. Bloodshot eyes lingered on Demi a little too long, and she sighed, slumping back in the plastic lawn chair, almost feeling his eyes traveling over her long tan legs, her high dark ponytailed curls. Yeah. Nothing surprising. 

But then there’s the slam of a door and the sound of shoes on pavement, and then a flash of blonde hair. Oh. Oh, someone else is getting out of the passenger side, and that’s a little more surprising. Single men like this don’t have children. 

Or, not really a child, if Demi was being precise. The girl had to be Demi’s age. She wasn’t nearly as lanky, much shorter, and stockier. Demi was absolutely two, maybe three inches taller than this kid. Demi found herself sitting up straighter at that thought. The girl had pigtails. Pigtails, bright blonde pigtails that burst out of the sides of her head. 

The girls sees Demi watching her, so there’s no point in pretending she isn’t. Instead, Demi settles in and eyes her more closely. The hair bounces around her shoulders, framing round face with a pointed chin. There’s a little flip to the ends, not real curls, though, and it’s not very golden, it’s more butterscotch blonde. Her eyes seem blue, but Demi can’t quite tell from this distance – she left her glasses in the camper again. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, Demi’s eyes move down the girl’s body. She’s taking all the time she wants. She takes in the shorts, the t-shirt, the stocky arms and legs spotted with mosquito bite scratching. Demi evaluates the girl frankly. Okay, so she’s probably an inch or two shorter than Demi, when she takes into account the sneakers on the girl’s feet. But she definitely weighs more than Dem, twenty or thirty pounds spread evenly across her body. That means her tits are probably bigger than Demi’s. 

The stranger is clearly uncomfortable with Dem’s scrutiny, but that doesn’t stop her. She has no qualms about staring. She needs to know what kind of girl this is, and she thinks she can already tell. The sunglasses up on her head, the shorts a size too small, the t-shirt that’s two sizes too little...her sisters won’t be allowed to talk to this girl.

Even as she’s thinking it, the blonde lowers her head, pops a piece of gum that had been hidden till now, and stalks into the store after her father, hips swinging. Oh, absolutely the girls won’t be allowed to associate with this one. 

Still, Demi can’t keep her head from turning, or her eyes from following the stranger into the store. For her sisters, she tells herself. So she can know what’s going on. Ignoring the real interest, the real curiosity, igniting somewhere in her stomach. 

__  
It’s good. It’s really, really good. Demi kisses her back without hesitation, forgetting her question, the two of them, together, forgetting everything except their mouths. They’re pressing into each other, stumbling together, fingers moving absently over skin and clothes. There’s too much going on at once, too much to focus on. Fingers have nowhere to go, stay stalled on hips or elbows or the back of a neck, not for lack of wanting but because there’s too much information exploding behind each girls’ eyes that they can’t work up the focus to move their hands. Everything is tongue and lips and teeth.

It’s fierce and fast and when they break apart, they’re almost panting. Cricket, a little dazed, watches Demi, sees the wolfish smile on the other girl’s face, her dark eyes smoldering, the color of good coffee, watching her hands come up to cup Crick’s jaw, her lips moving in below that –

“No!” Demi stops immediately, surprised. Cricket can see the tug-of-war that pulls her forward but she sits back, lips already parting to ask. Cricket’s face is flaming, her tongue tripping to explain itself. “My dad – I can’t – he can’t – he’ll know-” she babbles when she needs more than anything to be clear, but understanding flashes over Demi’s face nonetheless, and a tension that neither had consciously noticed relaxes from their shoulders.

“My mom doesn’t either,” Demi said, like she was agreeing with something Cricket had said. “Know, I mean. I don’t know…she’s not around a lot.” Demi shrugs, pensive, watching Cricket nod. “Is your dad...?”

As soon as the question is out Cricket’s cornflower eyes are wandering away from Demi’s and her fingers are nervously picking at the ratty comforter on the bed underneath them. She shrugs. She bites her lip. Opens her mouth, shuts it again, and then she shrugs once more. “He’s…just…”

She knows the longer she pauses the more curious Demi will be. The greater the fuss, the more it seems there’s a story beneath it. But she can’t make herself talk, doesn’t know what to say. Finally, Demi makes the assumption for her.

“I understand,” she says, and she believes she does, though Cricket knows she’s wrong. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.” She smiles at Cricket, a transparent attempt at reassurance, and Crick can’t help but smile back. “Unless you don’t…”

The addition is sudden, tacked on, and Demi’s smile drops away as she says it. She looks at Cricket more intensely now. It isn’t an attempt to make Cricket beg. Crick can tell immediately. The other girl genuinely wants to know if Cricket considers the risk too great, and Crick has a feeling that if she said yes, Demi would really, truly leave her alone. There’s so much power there, and the feeling is entirely new. 

Part of Cricket wants to say no just to know what it feels like, but the larger part of her is desperate for Demi to touch her again. “No-yeah-we’ll be careful,” Cricket says, all in a rush, and the smile that cracks open Demi’s face is one of genuine happiness. Cricket likes that, the way Demi’s face opens and lightens, and she finds herself smiling back.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s drunk, and Cricket is awake in an instant. His hand slams against the aluminum siding of the trailer as he staggers along, using the surface to stay upright.  
Now he’s fumbling with the door, grappling with it so insistently the wall is trembling. Curling tighter in her covers, Cricket allows herself a moment to hold her breath and pray he doesn’t get it open, pray he falls asleep out there and wakes up in a bad mood but leaves her alone for tonight.  
There’s the squeal of the hinge. There’s his heavy step, rattling the dishes in the sink. There’s his panting breath, heaving in and out of him as he turns towards the narrow little hall that dead-ends into her bedroom.  
Burying her face in the pillow, Cricket tries to take deep breaths. She tries to remind herself it won’t last long. She tries to keep her shoulders from shaking. She isn’t afraid. She’s stronger than this. She isn’t afraid.  
“Ch-Cherr-ry,” he slurs, and god, she wishes he wouldn’t call her that. He’s silhouetted in the doorway – he turned the hallway light on with a slap of a fumbling paw. “Che-rry..be a good girl, Cherry…”  
A tremor runs through her. Cricket swings her legs out of bed and sits there for a second, unsure. Should she go to him? She doesn’t want to. If she doesn’t, he’ll come after her, and then he’ll be angry that she didn’t mind. But if she does, she can’t say she didn’t want it. If she stands, she’s choosing it.  
It doesn’t matter, in the end. He stumbles in, landing on his knees in front of her. He looks up, slow grin spreading on his face. “You wanna li’l treat, Cherry?” he grabs at her tiny little pajama shorts and Cricket feels a hot blush work its way into her cheeks. Why is she wearing shorts that hardly cover her ass? She knows he won’t leave her alone in those. Her fault for being so stupid.  
“Off, Cherry,” he mutters, and she pushes her shorts down with hesitant fingers. He grabs at the waistband with thick sure digits and yanks them down hard enough that she thinks she hears the fabric tear.  
Now she’s in a thin t-shirt and panties, and she should’ve worn a bra, she really should’ve. She knew he was out at the bar, she knew this would happen, and still, here she is in tiny shorts and no bra. She was thinking about Demi, dreaming about the black girl’s flawless skin and perfect teeth, the way her corkscrew curls bounced around her head when she shook it, even in anger.  
But she couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about Demi now, with him crouched in front of her, his stubble five days long, his eyes thin and brown as the beer he stank of. His face was uneven as half-baked bread and just as thick and doughy. Her knees still hung over the edge of the bed. She was watching his face and he was watching that spot between her legs that was still covered by the thin screen of her green underwear.  
“Wan’ a li’l treat, Cherry?” he mumbles. “Show me tha’ pre’y li’l pussy.”  
Flushing, Cricket squeezed her eyes shut and dragged the garment down reluctantly, so slowly her fingers were barely moving. He got impatient, and so he grabbed them, tore the underwear down and away. Now she sat, quivering and exposed, before him.  
With one tough palm, he reached up and shoved her back onto her back, groping at her breast as he did. When she tried to sit up again, desperate to see, wanting to know what was going on, he rose up and slammed her down on the bed, cracking her head against the side of the trailer. The blow made her dizzy.  
That was why she didn’t resist when he pushed her knees apart. That was why, she told herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the usual pain, the intrusion, the rocking, the rawness-  
But then she felt his hot breath on her thighs and her stomach curdled. No. This was wrong, this was different. She tried to close her legs now, and he just shoved her knees away, rubbed his rough cheek against her inner thigh.  
At this, she made a sound, a little cry that caught in her throat. An inescapable response to the stubble that scratched at her baby-soft legs. He paid her no mind. Now he just planted his face there, in the middle of her, and his tongue, he was…he was…  
Cricket hated it, hated it so much, kept trying to close her legs. She wouldn’t dare touch him or push him away but she hated it and every time she brought her legs together he kept scratching her it hurt, he was hurting her, his hands holding her hips too hard, and it didn’t feel good, not like Demi. No, he was scratchy and rough and she was scared and finally she said it, out loud, finally her hand came down and shoved him away.  
“Stop it, stop it that hurts.”  
He’s still.  
She hardly dares breathe.  
She’s sitting up, he’s slumped between her legs.  
There’s quiet.  
“You li’l bitch.” Cricket flinches, shoulders drawing up and together, a pointless defensive response. “Fuckin’…slut. Thinks she’s too goo’ for me? Think you…you’re fuckin’ anything tha’ moves, huh? Don’ need me ta get you off, no…”  
“P-please it just hurts,” she whispers, and he shoves her down. She stays there, trembling, legs together, praying he doesn’t pry them apart.  
In the dark, with the faint hallway light streaming in from the door, he grabs at her dresser and comes back with a foreign object. He tests it in his hand, examines it in the light. Hairbrush. That’s perfect.  
Quickly, brutally, he grabs one leg and peels it apart from the other, bends her knee out to the side and leaves her exposed. There, the spot where his cheek rubbed is a little red, just a little red, nothing to fucking bitch about.  
Cricket can’t see what he’s doing, just sees his hand rise and fall and then feels the explosion of pain in her leg at the same time she hears the smack. She yowl, sits up so fast her head spins, tears already starting in her eyes.  
“Lie the fuck down!” her father bellows, slamming her back down on the mattress with one hand around her neck. “Lie down ‘n take it, you fucking bitch.” His rage makes him shockingly articulate.  
Trembling, crying, Cricket lies down and squeezes her eyes shut and waits for the next blow. She doesn’t have to wait long.  
It doesn’t take much before Cricket’s leg is bright red. The inner thigh is a sensitive place, the skin is thin and soft. Groggily, Cricket’s father surveys his work and nods. In front of him, his daughter writhes against the bed, fighting the hot grip of his hand on her knee. She is sobbing, face a mask of tears and snot. She’s hiccupping, every so often her cries reaching a fever pitch that sounds a lot like “no, no.”  
Flipping the brush over to the other side, he tests the prickly bristles against his arm. Then, grinning, he drags them over the tender smarting spot on his daughter’s leg. She howls, twists in his grip like a scalded cat.  
“Please!” She’s screaming. “Please, please, I-”  
“Please who?” his voice is so clear now he has to know what he’s doing.  
“P-please, Daddy,” she manages, her voice warbling and unsteady. She doesn’t care how she’s humiliating herself it just hurts. “Please, Daddy, please, it hurts so bad I’ll be a good girl I promise please stop please don’t.”  
“You been so naughty, Cherry,” he reminds her, and he’s definitely sobering now. She doesn’t know when that happened, where in the endless beating he started getting his head back, but she’s regained enough composure to hate herself for the way she wiggles and cries, and to hate him for the way he knows exactly what he’s doing.  
“Been a bad girl, Daddy,” she whines, “’m sorry, please?”  
He does it again, just for fun, pressing down hard and dragging the sharp plastic prickles over her bruise. Cricket wails. She’s not brave, she’s not strong, she’ll do anything for it to stop. “Please, Daddy,” she begs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, I’ll do anything Daddy just stop it I don’t like it-”  
“’kay, Cherry,” he says softly, smoothing her hair down, and she calms, just a little. “Mkay. You use tha’ pretty mouth on Daddy ‘n I’ll forgive you.”  
Letting her eyes fall shut, Cricket took a deep breath, steeled herself, nodded. “Yeah, yes Daddy, okay,” she agrees softly, and started to rise on her elbows.  
“No’ yet,” her father said softly, pushing her back down into place. “I needa get th’ other side.”  
That’s when Cricket really started to scream.  
She fights him, but he holds her down and beats her just as bad, if not worse, on the other leg. The stupid brush rises and falls, cracking hard against her leg, and she kicks and screams and curses and begs and it means nothing. There’s nothing she can do to stop the rise and fall, the burning pain, the rising welt on her skin.  
He laughed at her whining. “Are you a bad girl?” he asks teasingly as he waved the brush above her head. “Are you a naughty baby?”  
“Yes, Daddy, yes, I’m naughty, Cherry’s naughty,” Cricket agrees blindly, not sparing enough time to hate herself for the words, for the name. Just maybe if she agrees he’ll stop. Maybe if she makes him happy he’ll stop.  
“Bad girls get punished,” her father reminds her merrily, and smacks her again.  
He toys with her for a while. Rubs his stubbly cheek against her bruises, and then the hairbrush, and asks her which is worse. “The brush, the brush,” Cricket sobs, “Daddy please the brush hurts not you you’re-”  
He licks at her and Cricket’s voice goes out. She lies still, trembling, eyes squeezed shut, fists so tight her bitten-down nails slice at her palms. He gets tired of that game pretty quick, thank god, and he’s sitting up, pushing himself up and sitting heavily on the bed next to her. Cricket lies there for a long moment, pretending she doesn’t know what he wants.  
Eventually, he grabs her by the hair and helps her off the bed rough. She lands with a thud on her ass, yelping as the movement sends blood rushing to her thighs. Her father fumbles with his jeans, exposes himself but leaves the pants on. Shame coloring her cheeks, Cricket moves hesitantly forward and then stops. She opens her mouth, inches closer, and then stops again. She can’t.  
“Don’ make me paddle your cute lil ass now,” her father threatens genially, grabbing her by the hair and guiding her down. “C’mon, Cherry, be a goo’ girl. Said you’d be a goo’ girl for Daddy.”  
It’s bitter and wrong and she feels disgusting but she’s not doing anything. She can tell herself she’s not doing anything. He has her by the hair, and it hurts as he tears at the roots of her ponytail, but she opens her mouth as wide as she can and lets it happen. At least she isn’t doing anything to help it along.  
When his speed picks up, Cricket prepares herself. Tears are already rolling down her cheeks, she’s shaking silently around him, and then he shudders and her crying picks up speed. It’s disgusting and it’s inside her and she gags as she swallows but she swallows. He pulls out slowly, one hand stroking her hair now, and she ducks her head, exhausted and humiliated and hurting. She just sits there, head hanging, as he pants above her. She doesn’t get to stay there for long.  
“Up,” he orders, pulling at her hair. He’s out of breath but that doesn’t stop him. Cricket stands on unsteady legs. “A’right c’mere Cherry.” He guides her over one of his knees. When she stays there, stiff legged, lip trembling, he grabs her hips and forces her down.  
It’s not even that dirty she’s just perched there on his knee, but fresh tears spill over Cricket’s cheeks anyway. The rough denim scratches at the tender bleeding bruises and she whines a little, under her breath.  
He’s leaning back against the wall, which is so far away only his shoulders are really supported. He’s watching her just sit there, and finally he gives her a nudge with one hand. “Go on, Cherry,” he commands. “Give yourself a goo’ time ‘m not gonna do for ya.”  
Eyes shut, Cricket rocks back and forth slowly, unwillingly, hissing at the slide of his jeans against her thighs. That’s why he’s doing this. To make it hurt a little more. “You’re not gettin’ off till you ge’ off, Cherry,” he informs her, and Cricket grits her teeth, face screwing up in misery.  
It’s not fair, she wants to whine and wail and protest, it’s just not fair. She’s not going to get off this way, god knows, she’s going to have to fake it. She’s going to have to pretend she likes it and she doesn’t like it can’t he just let her act like she doesn’t like it? Cricket doesn’t want to be a part of her own rape, her own humiliation.  
(Because if she takes part it isn’t rape, is it? Because if she takes part, she wants it, doesn’t she?)  
Cricket wants to get on with it. She wants it to be done. So she puts her hands on his thigh for a little leverage and grinds down on his leg, gritting her teeth against the hundred pinpricks of pain that attack her legs. She opens her mouth and fakes high breathless moans, tips her head back and makes her eyelids flutter and pants with her mouth lolling open. He watches with half-lidded eyes and she feels disgusting, feels positively slimy, but she closes her eyes and gets on with it.  
When she finally forces out a climax that leaves her legs raw, the tears streaming down her cheeks could be from pleasure. She can pretend that it’s real, pretend that she actually feels something, as she fakes going limp and floaty and sprawls on the bed, leaving a careful gap between herself and her father.  
It doesn’t take long before he’s snoring, and Cricket pulls herself carefully out of bed. She pads on careful feet to the bathroom and when she gets there, shuts the door slow and quiet as can be. She sits down hard on the toilet seat. It’s more like her legs giving out, if she’s honest. For a long moment she sits there, breath heaving in and out of her, head low, mind blissfully blank. Then everything starts to come back.  
She’s bottomless, for one. Her bare ass planted on the toilet seat cover, her thighs still smarting, Cricket lets her head fall forward into her hands. Her head is heavy and her hands are cool on her hot face and-and her mouth-  
It’s a good thing the sink isn’t even a full step forward because Cricket hurls herself up and is retching before she’s on her feet. As soon as she recognizes what she’s doing she’s running the water and trying to keep her gagging as quiet as possible. She can’t afford to wake him now.  
After what feels like hours, the last of the acid has burned its way through Cricket’s throat, and she’s gulped down enough water from the faucet to feel at least a little cleaner. She plops down on the toilet seat again, shaking just a little. She composes herself again, draws in a deep breath, and then remembers to peer down at her legs.  
It’s both better and worse than she thought it’d be. When he was hitting her, nothing had ever hurt worse, and yet she was still surprised to find herself bleeding, just a little, from a few spots where the brush or his beard had broken skin. Cricket touched those spots, fingers coming away tinged with spots of bright red blood.  
She dabbed at herself with a wet sheet of toilet paper that all but disintegrated in her hand. Eventually Cricket gave that up. On numb, dead legs, she stumbles into the living area and curled up on the couch. She’d wake up with cramped legs, but at least she’d be away from him. Cricket turned her head to the side and waited for the long night to end.  
~~~  
The pretty black girl doesn’t like her. Cricket can see that straight away. First, she gave Cricket’s father a long, slow once over, and she obviously didn’t like what she saw. Why would she? Cricket’s father’s best attribute was his height, but even that was counterbalanced by the pudge around his middle. As for his face…well, it was a good thing he had the extra inches. And his wandering eyes – Cricket could just see this girl not appreciating those.  
Cricket was doing the same thing he was. She hated herself a little for it, but the girl on the porch was gorgeous. Long legs tucked into denim cutoff shorts, and a t-shirt that rode high on her stomach, revealing taut skin beneath…her arms long, fingers long, everything about her stretched like caramel taffy. Her hair haloed around her head, ringlets curling dizzily off her angular face, with little darker freckles all over it. Cricket didn’t know black girls could get freckles.  
The girl glared at Cricket’s father, and then her eyes snapped over to Cricket herself, making the same once-over. Cricket knew what this stranger would see. Cricket, just Cricket, just shy of 5’8, just shy of 170 pounds, just shy of anything worth noting. She’s too stocky to get real attention, but not big enough to get anything negative either. Her hair is blonde, but it’s nothing special. Her eyes are blue, but so are everyone’s. She’s had a little trouble with acne but only a few spots here and there.  
The only thing worth noting about Cricket, honestly, is that her hair is bunched in two ridiculous pigtails. Crick can see the girl’s eyebrows rising. This perfect beautiful girl is judging her, oh yes she is, and Cricket fights not to blush. She’s got to be older, this girl has to be at least nineteen, and Crick can take some small vindictive pleasure in that – she’s probably a lifer in parks like these, can’t be so high and mighty when you aren’t going anywhere, are you?  
But then, Cricket is probably setting up to be a lifer in parks like these too.  
At least she’s not acting like she’s better than anyone.  
Just because this girl’s skin is flawless and she’s hot as hell doesn’t mean she’s better than anyone.  
Oh, there are reasons that this girl is absolutely above Cricket, any way you rank it. Cricket expects they’ll find out about that soon enough, and she and her father will have to leave when the whispers get too loud. That’s what happened last time, and the time before, and the last three times before that. Cricket’s gotten used to it, grown to expect it, can’t muster the energy to worry about it anymore.  
This, though, just doesn’t feel fair. She doesn’t like this scrutiny, not on the first day. She should have a few weeks, at least, nice and safe and blameless, and then a few months before everyone knows for sure that she’s the scum of the earth.  
She doesn’t need this gorgeous porch-sitter deciding from the get-go that she’s nothing.  
So she tosses her head with all the bravado she can muster, and sets her pigtails swinging. Putting a little extra sway in her hips, just for kicks, she follows her father into the store, walking right past the judgmental girl on the porch.  
So there, she thinks weakly, shaking her head as soon as she’s inside. The girl is still burned on the inside of her eyelids. Cricket can still see her, sprawled out on that chair, in her head. Oh no, she thinks tiredly. Not another one.  
But yes, it’s another one, and this time it’s an older girl who has already decided she doesn’t like Cricket. This is perfect, it really is. Just perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are appreciated!! and better title suggestions please and thank you


	3. Chapter 3

Cricket can’t say it happens entirely by accident. Before the week is up she knows the black girl’s name and her story. Demetria is the oldest of five sisters, and the others string out behind her like ducklings in age and in nature. Demetria is eighteen, a little younger than Cricket thought, but her next youngest sister is right behind her. Kingsley is sixteen, and as rebellious as any second-oldest. All it takes is Demetria’s disapproval and Kingsley and Cricket are fast friends.   
The gossiping on the porch and walking back from the bus together has Demetria giving Cricket narrow sideways looks, but there isn’t a confrontation until the younger ones get involved. When it’s Scarlett, the thirteen-year-old, Demetria just grabs her by the arm and marches her away. When it’s little eight-year-old Romy, things start to get a little more interesting.   
They aren’t doing anything questionable, truly. As much as she wants to push the buttons of high and mighty Demetria, Cricket would take no joy in spoiling the remarkable innocence of Kingsley or little Ramona. No, Cricket’s just playing checkers in the dust with the little one while Kingsley paints her nails violent red, and out of the corner of her eye, Cricket sees Demetria’s approach like a storm brewing.   
Oh. This should be good.   
“Romy, inside. Kingsley, inside,” commands Demetria, towering above the seated three. Not looking up from her wet nails, Kingsley starts to whine.   
“But Demi,” she begins, and then Demetria has her by the wrist and is hauling her to her feet.   
“Go,” she snaps, holding out a finger sharp enough to cut off all of Kingsley’s arguments. Cowed, Kingsley grabs the little one by the hand and starts off towards the double wide they share with their workaholic mother.   
Demetria watches them go for a few feet, until she’s satisfied they’re far enough away, and then she whirls on Cricket. Suddenly, that long sharp finger is in Cricket’s face, and all of Demetria’s disapproval with it.   
“Stay away from my sisters, understand?”   
More than once, Cricket has imagined this scenario and the witty things she’ll say. She’ll imagine Demetria surprised, maybe ashamed of herself, maybe laughing at some joke Cricket would make. She’ll imagine Demetria liking her, the rest of them liking her, because goddammit, all Cricket has ever wanted is to be liked, and now she’s in a new place and everyone already hates her because of one stupid gorgeous girl.  
She says none of this. Instead, what falls out of her mouth is one syllable, short and stupid and sassy. “Why?”  
Pointedly, Demetria takes a step back and drags her eyes up and down Cricket, long and slow. “Why do you think?” she tosses right back, voice thick with disdain. Her nose is wrinkled and her eyes spit fire. Mama bear is out in full force.  
The once-over pretty much kills all of Cricket’s grand plans. At that look of disgust, her jokes are dead on her tongue. The judgment cores her as neatly as an apple, the sudden horrible suspicion that Demetria knows, somehow Demetria already knows, starts to race through Cricket. But she can’t fall apart now, and Demetria’s narrow brown eyes are still on her, waiting for some sort of response, so Crick cobbles something together.   
What ends up coming out, though she doesn’t mean for it to, is the truth. “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong, okay? I don’t know why you don’t like me, but leave your sisters out of it. I’m not hurting them.”  
It’s weak, and they both know it. Demetria rolls her eyes. “Maybe you haven’t done anything wrong,” she concedes, “but your trailer is a hundred years old, your clothes are two sizes too small, and I’d bet money you’re not set to graduate till you’re twenty.” She sniffs, shrugs one lean shoulder. “I don’t need my little sisters to have an example like you.”  
Cricket’s gotten this shit before but it’s usually later she’s usually had some time to be a normal teenager and have friends and she’s not ready for this, not now, not so early. “Yeah, glad they have an example, like you,” she manages, glaring up at Demetria with all the fury she can muster, all the anger an attempt to cover the hurt. “Can’t wait to see Romy grow up into a raging bitch.”  
It’s nothing good but it’s enough to set Demetria’s mouth into an even meaner scowl. Without a word, she turns and sweeps away, and Cricket watches her for a second before jerking her own head away angrily and turning towards her own stupid trailer.  
What a stupid fucking girl to have a momentary crush on, she’s thinking, as she reaches the door of the camper.  
What she’d have given to know that the other girl, reaching her trailer just a few spots away, was thinking the same thing. 

~~~  
Demi peels the cutoffs down slowly. She works them down Cricket’s legs, finally breaking their lip-lock when the edges of the denim get too far away. She drags the panties down as well, leaving Cricket bare to the warm air in trailer. Despite the seventy degree trailer, Cricket gets goosebumps.   
When Demi can no longer reach Crick’s pants to pull them down, she pulls away from Cricket’s lips. Not missing a beat, she slides down Cricket’s body, planting little nipping kisses as she goes. Cricket’s shoulder, her hipbone, her knee.   
Then Demi comes back up, smiling between Cricket’s legs. She guides the girls’ knees apart just a little, and she pauses. And then frowns.   
“Cricket,” she starts, and then pauses. “Crick…”  
Sitting up slowly, Cricket looks down at her blearily. “What is it?” she asks, wanting to get along with the fun part, body humming in anticipation. If Demi doesn’t want to, fine, but she could at least get back up here and kiss Cricket some more. But Demi stays where she is, looking not reluctant, but…scared maybe? There’s a faint anger there, almost, and Cricket wonders what she did wrong. “What’s wrong?”  
In answer, Demi’s fingers ghost along Cricket’s inner thighs, and then the blonde is blushing so brightly she’d be visible a mile away. Now she snaps her knees together, hiding her legs from Demi. Her legs with the raw red patches of skin there, on her inner thighs, the abrasions just on the edge of being bloody.   
Cricket pulls her knees into her chest now, scoots backwards across the bed away from Demi. “’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. She laughs a little. It’s small and humorless. “Sorry, um...sorry, Dem.”  
“What-no,” Demi shakes her head, confused. “Cricket, you don’t…don’t apologize, just…what happened?”  
There’s this lost look in Cricket’s eyes that’s scaring Demi, and the brunette follows her friend up onto the bed and crawls over until they’re sitting side by side. Cricket flashes a quick forced smile. “He, ah, forgot to shave,” she finally mutters tightly. “My…my…you know,” she whispers, not wanting to say it out loud. “He forgot to shave, and I, um, complained, so he, ah. Kinda went after me with a hairbrush a little.”  
There was silence.   
“C’mon, Demi, don’t…s’not so big a deal.”   
The other girl won’t speak.   
“Dem, Demi, please, I’m all right it’s just…it’s a little bruising is all, we’ve all had a little of that.”  
Demi’s knuckles were getting white. Her nails dug into her arms so hard she looked like she was going to start bleeding.   
“It’s…it’s…”  
The other girl won’t look at her.   
“Demi…Demi, p-please can you…Demi please can’t you look at me I’m sorry I didn’t – I didn’t – I didn’t want him to please-”   
Something fragile cracks and breaks in Cricket’s voice. She’s gulping air down now. Water threatens in her eyes.   
“Aw, fuck,” Demi snarls, the sound hard and mean in her mouth. Her body turns, snaps around and she’s pressing Cricket hard against the wall, kissing her harder. It’s fierce and angry and her hands are on Cricket now, grabbing her shoulder, cupping her head. Demi’s skin feels too hot and Cricket can smell the anger on her, heavy and electric like lightning.   
“You’re mine,” Demi mutters into her lips, “mine, he doesn’t get you, he doesn’t get to do that, s’not fair you don’t…” she pulls back for a second and they’re looking at each other. Demi’s eyes are brown and smoldering, Crick’s are blue and just a little teary. There’s a pause and Demi gets softer. She bites her lip. “You don’t deserve this, baby,” she murmurs, and the words are soft and foreign in her mouth but it feels good. It feels right.   
Cricket, tough girl of the wisecracks and smart ass comments, Cricket; fearless reckless girl who howls out the passenger side of the pickup, Cricket; who walks barefoot on gravel and smiles with all her teeth – that Cricket buries her face in Demi’s shoulder, a little ashamed of her softness. Loving with all her heart, but unable to voice it, the way her stomach feels when Demi calls her baby.   
For a few moments, Demi just held the blonde, stroking her back. Then she was pushing Cricket back gently and kissing her face. Crick responds lazily, and Demi moves down her throat, kissing and, for a moment, trying to suck a hicky onto the other girl’s neck.   
“N-no, Dem, no,” protested Cricket regretfully. “Y-you can’t, he’ll know I’ll…” she trails off moodily, tossing her hair. She’s pouting, just as frustrated as Demi that they have to hold back.   
Growling, Demi slips down to where Cricket is still holding her legs together. She moves them apart, and when Crick makes a hesitant sound, Demi looks up at her, unblinking. Blowing her breath out slowly, Cricket nodded, and parted her knees hesitantly. Demi spreads her legs out wide, wide enough to make Cricket squirm under her. From her place on her knees, Demi looks down at Cricket, spread across the bed, and then she lowers to her forearms and ghosts her mouth along the plane of Cricket’s thigh. There’s no touch, but her hot breath traces Cricket’s skin and the other girl shivers.   
Blood boiling, Demi examines the first patch of broken blood vessels, seeing the soft skin bruising, turning a slow purple. Carefully, she lowers her mouth to the spot and kisses Cricket carefully.   
Above her, Cricket starts, but Demi doesn’t take notice. She just moves over Cricket’s legs carefully, kissing her bruises, her inner thighs, the hollow behind her knee. Unexpectedly, Cricket finds herself blinking back tears.   
When Demi finally does get to the spot between her legs, she takes her time. Everything is long and slow and careful, and more than that, gentle. Everything is quieter than usual, not just the quiet of not wanting to be caught –a different silence. Cricket writhes and pants and grabs at the sheets, and Demi doesn’t tease, but she does take her time.   
After it’s over, when Demi flops down next to the other on the mattress, she finds Cricket tear-streaked and silent. Sour panic grips the brunette’s gut. “Did – Crick, did I…did I do something wrong?”  
“No,” mumbles Cricket, and her voice is quiet and hoarse. “No, just…s’never been so…it’s just never been so…nice, Dem. ‘S always fast ‘n rough ‘n with you and…everyone…that’s hot – with you - I like that just…this’s…different.”   
A little shamefaced, Cricket swipes at her nose with a fist and when Demi stretches out an arm, Cricket takes refuge under it gratefully. They lay like that for a moment, all skin on skin, both hot but wanting to touch. Then Cricket starts to push herself up reluctantly. “I’ll get you, too,” she offers, but Demi pulls her back down.   
“Stay,” she commands quietly, and that’s all it takes. Cricket relaxes into the curve of Demi’s arm, and the two of them stay like that for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to get really really dark really really fast (think sexual and physical child abuse) so just a heads up on that. also (as you can tell) there's a fair amount of time skipping here, but that's probably only going to be this chapter


End file.
